


Disarm

by hitokiri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, M/M, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Top Endverse Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitokiri/pseuds/hitokiri
Summary: Zachariah sends Endverse Dean back to 2009 to see his little brother again. Dean can't control himself.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 288





	Disarm

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Supernatural.
> 
> Rewatching the series all over again is just. Bringing new ideas to my head. This turned out nothing like I wanted. It wasn't supposed to have a plot, just mindless sex. Oh well.
> 
> I have no beta so all mistakes are mine. I didn't reread it when I finished writing it. Oops.

Dean throws his younger self a glare and hefts the duffel of weapons onto his shoulder. “We move out in five. If what you see here doesn’t make you say ‘yes’ to Michael, you’re going to live everything I lived the past five years, and wish to god that you get a chance to convince _your_ younger self to say ‘yes’.”

He steps outside to pack his bag into the truck, but a familiar face with the smarmy smile he hates stands just down the steps.

“Zachariah,” he growls, fist clenching over the strap of the bag.  


“Hello, Dean. I need your help.”  


Laughing humorlessly, Dean moves to walk past the angel. “I think you’ve done enough. Letting the apocalypse happen to entertain your boring lives as dicks with wings,” he says. “Don’t think I never found out it was your orders for Cas to let Sam out of the panic room at Bobby’s.”

The angel actually laughs, amused. “I knew I always saw something in you, Dean. That’s why you’re meant to be Michael’s vessel.” He steps to the side to stop Dean from moving any further. “You see, I’m going to give you another chance here.” Green eyes full of both fire and defeat lock on his smirking face. “I can take you back to 2009 -- much like I brought your 2009 self here -- to give _you_ the chance to convince yourself to change the fate of the world.”

“Not interested.” No hesitation.  


“What if I told you you could see Sam again?”  


That gives him pause. His shoulders tense. He closes his eyes and breathes.

All he’s wanted these past five years is to see Sam. _His_ Sam. His precious Sammy who he abandoned to this. Sammy, his little brother who he told he never wanted to see again; that they’d be better off without each other.

He’s lived in nothing but regret and pain since.

It doesn’t even take much thought, honestly. If he hadn’t had so much pride back then... if he had just let Sam come back to him when Sam asked... they could have gotten through this together.

He says yes before he can stop himself.

* * *

He’s in Oklahoma standing in front of a motel. Long before the world fell to shit under Lucifer’s rule. The air he breathes is cleaner, fresher; it feels like it’s the first time he’s breathed in years. He thinks that’s true.

He doesn’t know this motel, but he knows by the name that it’s the first one in the Yellow Pages and part of him is both proud and hurt that Sam chose it in hopes that Dean would come looking for him. He never came back for his brother and he feels a ping in his chest not dissimilar to heartache because he let his little brother down.

His eyes close for a second and he remembers Detroit. He remembers everything that transpired between him and Sam. And he remembers Sam saying ‘yes’ to the devil.

He remembers feeling like he lost another piece of himself.

Blowing out a breath of air, he knocks on the door. He knows Zachariah must have a human spy around, which is how he knew exactly where Sam would be in September of 2009. He should be cautious and concerned and not being doing this. But his little brother is right on the other side of the door, so close yet so far from him. His hands ache to touch.

The door opens, slowly, then once hazel eyes peek through the open slit of the door, it flies open all the way. “Dean!”

“Hiya, Sammy,” he says. He’s tired. It’s been years since he spoke the name ‘Sammy’ out loud. It feels good to say it again.  


“What are you doing here? You said--” Something stops his brother in his tracks. Silences him. He squints his eyes and scrutinizes Dean, trying to figure him out. “You-- what happened to you?” He looks older, he knows. He _is_ older. A whole extra five years older than Sam. He’s got nine years on this kid now and the apocalypse has not been good to him. His body is 35 while Sam’s is 26. Sam is still soft. Perfect. No longer addicted to demon blood.  


No longer a demon’s whore.

Dean aches.

Sam lets him into his motel room, says with a worried tone, “You look like you haven’t slept a good night’s sleep in years, Dean, come sit down.”

Dean’s more gruff now, angry, but there’s still a part of him that is and always will be soft for Sam.

Except now he has a choice to make.

It’s Sam’s first mistake turning his back on Dean to go to the minifridge. It’s Sam’s second mistake putting the gun down on the table and leaving him completely defenseless.

Dean has spent five whole years fighting for his life. He has spent every waking moment killing demons and helping whatever humans survived the apocalypse so far. He has spent all his free time getting stronger. His body is full of scars the version of himself from this time couldn’t even imagine.

He’s so much stronger than Sam who gave up hunting weeks before.

He gets Sam pinned easily, his front pressed roughly against the wall next to the minifridge. Sam grunts in discomfort, squirming against Dean and the wall. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself down, closes his eyes and waits for the excitement in his lower half to dissipate at the friction. The warm body between him and the wall isn’t just that... it’s his baby brother whom he’s wanted to fuck since the kid hit puberty. He has to be careful not to fuck up the future in a different way, but god he _wants_.

The squirming doesn’t let up and Dean whispers, “Easy, tiger,” in his little brother’s ear. A sharp pang of hurt stabs through his chest when he remembers a simpler time nine years ago when he saw Sam for the first time since he left for college. Sam pinned under him on the floor, panting after their scuffle. He presses harder against him. “Gettin’ a little rusty there, kiddo.”

“You’re not Dean!”  


Dean laughs, “Of course I am, Sammy. I’m just not _your_ Dean.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  


They’re interrupted by Sam’s cell phone ringing on the table across the room. Dean raises an eyebrow then makes quick work of getting Sam manhandled onto the bed with the rope in his duffel.

“_Dean_!”  


Sam really is rusty. Weaker. He’s lost weight. Dean gained a few pounds in muscle over the years.

Once Sam is tied securely, mouth covered with a pillowcase tied behind his head, Dean walks over to the table to see who called.

_ONE MISSED CALL  
DEAN_

He shakes his head in both amusement and annoyance. He thought Zachariah would give him enough time but if his younger self is calling, that means the bastard angel sent him back to his own time. Dean doesn’t have a lot of time to do his convincing then.

He hits the _call back_ button and waits for himself to answer the phone.

“_Sam, thank g--_”  


“Dean,” he says nonchalantly, “It’s been a long time.”  


“_You! What are you doing in my time, answering Sam’s phone?!_”  


He looks over at his little brother struggling on the bed and smirks. “Sam couldn’t answer, he’s a little tied up. And, see, since I knew I couldn’t convince you to say ‘yes’ and let Michael possess you and save the world, I had to come back here and hopefully do some convincing of my own.

“Did you know Sam’s lost weight, Dean? He hasn’t been taking care of himself. I got him down easily, pinned under me like we did when we went to get him at Stanford,” he reminisces. “He looked so happy when he opened the door to see me, Dean. He missed me so much.”  


“_He didn’t miss you, you son of a bitch. He missed me_,” younger Dean growls on the other end of the line. “_He doesn’t even know you_.”  


“Oh, maybe not yet,” he says offhandedly, “but he will. How far are you from Garber, Oklahoma?”  


He hangs up before Dean can answer.

* * *

He removes the gag and presses a gentle yet calloused palm against his little brother’s warm cheek. “I’m not here to hurt you, Sammy. You just... you don’t know just how much I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you, the _real_ you, in five years.” He takes Sam’s silence as a means to continue, “It’s my fault, I know. I turned you away. I told you we were better off apart.

“I was wrong.”  


He can’t help himself; he leans down and takes the first kiss he and Sam will ever share. It hurts to think about how he stole the first kiss with Sam his younger self was supposed to have, but he couldn’t live a life of regret all over again knowing he never did it. Sam doesn’t fight and it’s perfect. He doesn’t know if it’s because Sam wants it too or if he’s just shocked and trying to understand. But he will take it. He will take all of it.

Sam’s mouth opens under his and he gratefully plunges his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. Sam is nothing if not perfect and Dean wouldn’t trade this for the world.

When he finally pulls away, he licks his lips contentedly. Sam looks dazed and flushed under him, panting from his kiss-swollen lips. Dean yearns.

“Zachariah sent me here,” he says finally, caressing Sam’s bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “I’m from 2014, where the apocalypse is in full swing. I’m supposed to convince myself from this time to let Michael in, which I think is why I was sent to you. You’re the only one who can convince my arrogant, prideful self to say ‘yes,’ but looking at you... I think I have another way.  


“You see, Sam, in the future -- _my_ future -- you say ‘yes’ to Lucifer, and that’s my fault, too. I left you with no choice. I abandoned you when you needed me. I left you with nothing. I left you open to possession, which is what I’ve always told you never to be  


“I hurt you so bad that the only way to lessen the pain was to live a life on autopilot, where you sleep your way through everything, riding shotgun to the devil inside you. I did that to you, and for that, I’m sorry. I can’t let it happen again, Sammy,” he whispers, voice raspy with emotion. He stopped crying years ago, but seeing his little brother’s face for the first time in years when he’s still Sam has made a dam burst inside himself and his eyes started welling up with tears. “I will do everything in my power to keep you by my side, Sam. I want us always to be in this fight, taking down the devil together. Like we always do.”

He watches with trepidation as the tears fall from his little brother’s eyes. He wipes his own away and then leans down to kiss Sam’s tears away. He hasn’t been this tender in years.

“Sam” he whispers softly, like a benediction, “Please let me have this.”  


Sam doesn’t protest when Dean starts undressing him. He doesn’t protest when Dean kisses him again. He whispers Dean’s name like a prayer, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks as he lets Dean have everything he wants.

* * *

Dean doesn’t do gentle. Not anymore. He doesn’t often have time for sex; the looming doom that hangs above their heads in the wake of the apocalypse has left everyone empty and driven only by desire: desire to survive and desire to _live_.

He chooses to live every time.

He gets himself off here and there, mostly jerking off quick to the thought of one day getting his brother back and fucking him rough and dirty for all the agony he’s caused over the years. Other times he gets off with another warm body; various women in their camp. Strong women. Women that could just as soon kick his ass if he looked at them wrong.

The opposite of his little brother. His brother’s type died when the apocalypse started.

The motel comes with courtesy lube in the nightstand drawer. Sometimes Dean misses motels for just this reason.

He doesn’t untie Sam. He wants complete control. He wants his brother completely at his mercy while he takes everything from him before he goes home to a world where Sammy can never be his.

That hurts him more than he can fathom.

“Dean,” Sam whines, wriggling his thin hips underneath him. “If you’re gonna fuck me, do it.”  


Dean thinks Sam has been wanting this as much as he has.

He wishes he never let Sam walk away from him.

He wishes he was stronger five years ago, because he would have never let Sam out of his sight.

Had he been as strong then as he is now, he never would have said those things to Sam. He would have continued to protect him, Sam asking to be treated like an adult be damned.

He hates how weak he was five years ago.

Coating his fingers generously with the lube, he presses one against his little brother’s untouched hole. He doesn’t warn him or stop when the hole clenches and Sam tenses, just presses until his finger is in all the way to the first knuckle. Sam is tense under him, not used to the intrusion. Dean wouldn’t know, but he’s almost positive Sam has never had anal sex before. They spent years dancing around “will they, won’t they” that Dean knows Sam never tried with another man before, unless he’s fucked himself with his fingers or even toys. But judging by his little brother’s scrunched up face, his hole has spent the past 26 years completely untouched and Dean is so glad he’s the one that gets to stretch him.

If he was still the Dean of five years ago, he thinks he would have taken his time. He thinks he might have savored this, taken him nice and slow to make it last.

But he’s not the Dean he was. He’s a completely different person. Harder, colder. Stronger. He won’t be shattered by pleading hazel puppy eyes. He won’t be swayed by whimpers and whines. He grew into a man that takes, takes, takes, and he won’t stop until he’s gotten what he’s wanted for years.

Sam is writhing underneath him, hands twisting so his fingers can curl around the ropes tying him to the bed. His wrists are red where he pulled against his restraints, the skin rubbed raw, and Dean knows he will be cleaning the wounds after he gets what he wants.

He will always take care of his Sammy.

He’s fucking Sam with two fingers now, hard and fast, ignoring the way his brother whines his name. The hole he’s abusing is loosening beautifully and Dean can’t wait to push his hard dick into him and fuck him raw.

He can’t wait to make Sam come screaming his name.

Because he can’t wait anymore, and because he just doesn’t give a shit anymore, he pulls his fingers out and coats his dick with the lube. Sam is whining at the loss underneath him, rolling his hips and trying to get Dean’s attention. Sam has had Dean’s attention this whole time.

“Shh,” Dean whispers, pressing the head of his dick against the small entrance. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He presses a warm palm against Sam’s sweaty cheek and pushes his hips _in_ and the head pops inside of Sam’s worked hole. Sam lets out a gasp not completely devoid of pain, and hisses the further Dean presses. “Hey, hey, shh, just breathe for me, I know it’s your first time. You can take it. You can take me, kiddo. Let me in.”  


Frozen underneath Dean, Sam’s voice seems to have left when the pain took over and Dean stills his hips despite the agony it brings him. It’s harder than it looks to hold still when the heat engulfing his hard cock wants to pull him in further, completely smother him until he jackhammers his hips into the willing body beneath him.

When Sam finally draws in a breath is when Dean finally shoves his hips forward until his balls rest against his little brother’s ass. He trembles with the feeling surrounding him, moans, “Oh, _Sammy_,” voice broken with need. “I don’t think you understand how bad I need this, kid. I have to--” He slowly pulls his hips back, sending a tremor through both their bodies, before slamming all the way forward again. Sam screams under him and the sound is the most pleasing thing his ears have ever heard.

He does it again.

To the same effect, Sam’s screams turn into long moans until Dean is fucking him with a brutalizing rhythm, never letting up or letting Sam catch his breath. Dean pistons his hips and fucks Sam like he’s never fucked anyone before: hard and fast and brutal. Sam is clenching in all the right places and all that does is egg Dean on, wanting to press harder and push deeper and make Sam come screaming, before passing out in exhausting for a few minutes before Dean wakes him up fucking him all over again.

He doesn’t want to go back home.

The way Sam is chanting his name, begging him for more, harder, faster, _Dean, come on_, is driving Dean insane.

He pulls out completely, ignoring the whimper from the man underneath him, and lifts him by the hips. “I’m going to flip you over and you’re going to hold yourself up on the headboard, got it?” he growls against Sam’s ear, digging sharp fingernails into his little brother’s hips, then kisses him hard and dirty. His tongue plunders into his mouth, claiming him and leaving him bereft when he pulls away and does just as he says he will.

Sam’s on his knees, hands gripping the headboard in front of him as he braces himself for the penetration. It comes without warning, Dean thrusting hard and fast, right back into the hole that was made for him, the hole made to be filled by his dick. Sam screams again, Dean somehow managing to press deeper inside him with this angle, Sam’s legs no longer in the way. It’s better for both of them this way.

He fucks him fast, fingers digging into the perfect hips in front of him, his thumbs fitting perfectly into the dimples on Sam’s back, like they were spaced and sized perfectly just for Dean.

Sam was made perfectly, just for Dean.

“Dean, oh god, _Dean_,” Sam chants, now pressing back against his brother, fucking himself on Dean’s dick. Meeting him thrust for thrust, until Dean’s pressing something inside him that makes him gasp and tremble and _writhe_. “Fuck, Dean, I need-- I need you so bad, Dean!”

That sets him off, makes him move faster, thrust harder. He refused to touch Sam’s dick, completely determined to make him come untouched. He wants Sam’s ass to milk him while his dick pounding away inside him makes Sam come screaming.

“You feel so fucking good, Sammy,” he moans, “So fucking good. Could fuck you forever. Want you to come home with me so I can keep fuckin’ you.” He doesn’t lose his rhythm, just keeps fucking, leaving finger shaped bruises on Sam’s hips. “Want to fuck you all the time, leave no part of you unmarked. Make you _mine_ for good. _Fuck_.”

Stilling his hips, he grinds right against Sam’s prostate, sending his brother into a fit of shakes and moans of more until Sam clenches impossibly tighter around him. Dean knows the exact moment he comes because his ass squeezes him like a vice and he screams Dean’s name like it’s the only thing he remembers. Like it’s the only thing he will ever say again.

Dean comes moments later, coating Sam’s insides and making him completely his. He laughs softly as he pulls out and his come drips onto the king size motel bed. Sam trembles, body sensitive beneath Dean, and then collapses onto his stomach, defeated and tired. Dean’s fingers find Sam’s hair and tug gently until he turns his head to receive a hard kiss from his brother. Sam’s eyes are closed and he whimpers as Dean turns him over onto his back before pulling away completely. Sam’s asleep before Dean moves away entirely.

He gets off the bed just as there’s a knock on the door, the handle jingling as someone tries turning it, before it bursts open in a flurry of wood. Standing in the doorway is himself, younger and pissed off, chest heaving and gun in hand. His eyes seem to find the bed, open wide at the sight of a tied up, naked Sam, completely covered in come.

“What the fuck did you do?” his younger self growls, taking a step inside and raising his gun. “You pretended you were me and took advantage of him. You took advantage of my little brother.”  


Dean laughs, completely unamused. “Actually, Dean,” he drawls, “I told Sammy everything. I told him who I was, who he becomes, and he still let me fuck him.” His younger self pauses in shock, gun subconsciously lowering as if in defeat. “You see, Dean... he’s wanted this for so long. He’s wanted _us_ for so long. And I’ve wanted him even longer.

“I had to claim him before I go back to a world where he’s never going to be himself again. I had to take him at least once.” He steps closer to himself before turning to look back at his little brother. “I won’t apologize for that. Just,” he pauses, licks his lips and tries to control his voice. “Just take care of him. Maybe then... maybe then he can be mine in the future, too, and I won’t have to see that winged bastard defile our little brother.  


“Goodbye, Dean.”  


Zachariah waits for him outside the motel, and he vanishes in a white light, waiting with bated breath to see if his younger self fixed the future or not.

Six months later, he’s taking a scythe to Death himself to save his little brother and cure himself of the Mark of Cain, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review.


End file.
